The Beginning of Marshall Lee the Vampire
by Believe4Ever
Summary: My take on how Marshall became a vampire over one thousand years ago. I hope you all enjoy this! Please review. Rated T just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Marshall starts out as a human in our world. Just keep that in mind while reading. Enjoy!**

"Marshall, don't but such a loser!" Ray complained.

"I'm not being a loser!" Marshall argued.

Ray laughed. "Then don't be a wuss!"

Marshall snickered nervously in response. He and Ray were standing outside Mr. Proust's house. Mr. Proust was the meanest, nastiest man who lived on their street. The worst _person _who lived on their street. He supposedly went on vacation the day before, but since no one saw him leave, some people assume that he just said that so they'd leave him alone. Marshall and Ray thought that exact thing.

Ray was Marshall's best friend. He was—what he considered to be—a 'bad boy'. He had flaming red hair that he kept gelled up with far too much product and twisted up in a sweatband with a black insignia on it. His clothes was a neon yellow shirt with a leather jacket worm over it and scuffed up jeans with black boots shined to perfection. He liked to say that he was in a gang, when he clearly wasn't. He was simply a moron.

Marshall, on the other hand, had twilight black hair that was naturally messy. He liked to wear his favorite red plaid shirt and pressed jeans. His orange shoes were dirty because of all the running around he did. He also liked the bad boy image, but sometimes it was hard to stick with because of his fears. He often just wrote songs in his room, not went out onto the streets like Ray.

"I don't want to go in there," Marshall finally growled.

"Dude, _don't be a loser!"_

Marshall bit his lip and looked again at the house. It was a rundown house with creaky wooden steps and dusty drapes from outside. The door was amazingly still on its hinges and the porch had dark, dead wood and holes, loose floorboards, and who knows what else. There were probably rats scurrying around there. But still, if he wanted to be a 'bad boy' he had to prove it, right?

"Fine," the raven-haired boy sighed. Ray just grinned and beckoned for him to follow.

The two boys crept up onto the porch and it creaked under their weight. Marshall lifted his hand to knock on the door, but Ray grabbed his arm. "Dude, he's not there, right?" He gave a small grin. Obvious sarcasm. But even so, Ray twisted the doorknob and pushed onto the door with his shoulder, forcing it open.

Marshall burst out into a coughing fit. The halls were caked with dust. It looked like no living person had been in the house for years. The dust was all settled; the carpet was dark and didn't look like anyone ever stepped onto it. All the drapes in the long hallway were drawn, so as to not let any light in. Marshall had to admit, Mr. Proust was freaky, but he was living some kind of demented lifestyle.

Ray waltzed inside and Marshall followed carefully, softly closing the door behind him. He had a bad feeling about this. If Mr. Proust was here, then he could call the cops for trespassing, and even if no one was there, this would be breaking-and-entering, let alone housebreaking. They were committing some serious crimes.

"Ray, I don't like this—"

"Go look in the kitchen, 'kay?" Ray looked at him and grinned. "Who knows? Maybe this could become our new hangout every time Old Man Proust disappears!"

"But Ray—"

"Now, Marsh!"

Obediently, the raven-haired boy nodded and hurried to the kitchen. The kitchen, at least, was a little cleaner. At least, it appeared cleaner. Marshall opened up the closet cabinet and cockroaches crawled out, swarm after swarm. He cried out and jumped onto the table. He hated bugs. They were disgusting.

After the cockroaches had disappeared into the cracks and crevices in the floorboards, he risked opening the refrigerator. Slowly, he brought open the door, expecting there to be chilled insects or some molding food. Luckily nothing came out. Unfortunately, that was because there wasn't any food in it. The light bulb had to be changed, too.

"God, does this guy even eat?" Marshall grumbled.

A loud squeak startled him. He looked up to the ceiling and saw a bat fly from the corner and into the hallway. Marshall couldn't help but laugh. He'd always liked bats. They were interest to him, being one of the few mammals that flew and could drink blood and all that.

"Hey, Ray! Come here!" he called. Ray appeared at the door on the other side of the room, looking a little annoyed.

"What? Did you find something really cool?"

"I saw a bat! Let's go check it out!"

"Ugh, no way! Bats are stupid and gross. They're all slimy and they'll suck your blood!"

"Bat's aren't slimy. And anyway, they don't actually suck your blood—only bit you and drink what drips out, like some cool beverage." Marshall grinned but when Ray just gave him a look that obviously meant 'You're a freak' he dropped it. "Very few bats drink blood, anyway. Most eat fruit.

"I don't care."

"Come on, at least follow me. I don't like this place. It's creepy. I don't wanna be alone. Come on, Ray, please?"

"Fine. But you're gonna owe me _big time _when this is all over."

They walked down the hallway that the bat had flown through. Marshall saw a flash of black disappear into the attic. Why was the attic open, anyway? The raven-haired teen didn't think much of it.

"Okay, you stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes." Ray rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall.

Climbing the latter into the attic would be easy. The only problem was that the ladder was still hoisted high up on the ceiling, far out of his reach. "Hey, Ray, give me a boost!"

"I ain't helpin' you get into that attic!"

"Ray, come on! Please?" Ray sighed, annoyed, but he cupped his hands and held it out. Marshall gave him a look. "Dude, I'm not going over a wall. I need more of a steady boost. Get down like a stool."

Ray moaned, but got down onto his hands and knees. "Just make it quick! You so owe me."

Marshall stepped onto his friend's back and balanced. Roy groaned. Marshall reached out, stretching as far as he could. "Higher!" Ray inched a little higher. Marshall grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder and gave it a good jerk. Before he knew what was happening, it came crashing down. Right onto Ray's hand.

Ray howled in pain and agony, somersaulting backward and slamming into the wall, causing more air to filter into the air. Marshall fell down to the ground, landing with a loud thud. Ray made a sound between a moan and a cough.

"Err, sorry, Ray." Marshall winced.

"Just make it quick!" he snapped, cradling his hand. Marshall nodded and scaled up the ladder.

The attic was dark. He couldn't find a light switch. Although he didn't really want to use one. The light would just frighten the bat again. it would fly away, probably scaring Ray in the process.

Squinting and looking for the bat, Marshall felt his way around. Boxes filled the attic, making almost a labyrinth in the tight space. A small squeak led Marshall to the middle of the room. He looked around the ceiling, but he couldn't find a single thing in the darkness. He looked around near the ground. Nothing. He took a chance and looking at each of the boxes until he spotted the bat staring at him from a box to his left.

"Hah!" Marshall couldn't help but cry. The bat squawked and flew around his hair. Marshall laughed and swatted around his hat. Who knew bats could be so playful? Then the bat's eyes seemed to flash red. It dove down and sank it fangs into Marshall's neck. The teen gave out a surprised yelp and fell over, knocking over a few boxes and making quite a commotion.

"Marshall?" Ray shouted from the attic's door. Marshall could feel his blood being drunk by the bat . . . no, wait. It was being sucked. _Sucked? _Yes, it was really being _sucked _out of him. His breathing was getting more struggled and ragged. He could barely raise his hand to shyly swat at the creature.

"Ray," he croaked, "help."

He could barely hear the shuffling of Ray's feet as he came up the ladder. When he saw the bat, he shrieked and went to kick for it. His foot ended up kicking Marshall in the chest, instead. But the bat flew away. That was progress. "Don't worry, dude!" Marshall could barely hear him. "I'll go call for help! Don't worry!"

Ray stumbled out of the attic and Marshall could feel himself drifting off and getting more and more lightheaded as he lost more blood from the wound that refused to close. He found himself feeling hungry. The smell of blood—which he usually found absolutely sickening—was almost sweet. It was metallic. Like the kind of music he loved to write. He found himself wishing he had food, anything, just something to make these hunger pains disappear . . .

The last thing he heard was a loud crash and some cursing that sounded like an older man's. His neck felt like it was on fire. There was that same metallic scent . . .

And Ray screaming his life away.


	2. Chapter 2

"He isn't alive."

"But he's breathing."

"Do you not see the monitor? There's no heartbeat. _No _heartbeat. I'm sorry, but he's dead.

"Can't you see his chest? It's moving up and down. He's _alive._"

_Who are these people?_

Marshall only saw black. He could hear the soft, distorted voices of two people. It sounded like a man and a woman, but he couldn't really tell. What were they bickering about? Who? Who is this person who can't be alive—but is still breathing?

"He's been like this for a while . . . How in the world is this possible?"

_Why can't I see? _Marshall asked himself. _I can't move . . . can't see . . . am I dead? _Instinctively he tried to gasp but found he couldn't. _Am _I _the person they're talking about?!_

"Why won't he wake up?" the voice almost seemed annoyed.

Marshall kept trying to move. He had to. he had to prove to himself that he was alive. He w_as _alive. Right? Yes, of course. No doubt.

Marshall groaned and his hand twitched. The woman simply said, "He's alive. Finally, he's waking up."

The teen twisted and opened his eyes. The light blinded him and he squeezed them shut again, bringing his hands up to rub them. Were his nails always so long and jagged? After a couple of seconds, he could squint and look around. He found that the two people were his mother and a doctor.

His mother's black hair was done up in a tight bun and her glasses were placed on the edge of her nose. This feature always reminded him of a librarian. Her eyes were a bright, intellectual, glassy blue. Her suit was pristine and pressed to perfection. She never had a single thing out of place.

The doctor had dark hair as well, that was slicked back with quite a bit of gel. Though his gel didn't smell as gel usually did, that sharp, sticky smell that made you want to wash the air. This was even worse, bitter and sour like a drunk's breath. Maybe the doctor was a drinker. His lab coat was wrinkled and it looked like it hadn't been washed in alive.

"So he is alive," the doctor muttered, writing a couple notes on a clipboard. "Well I suppose that's good news."

"Yes, of course it is," his mother answered with that same annoyed, commanding tone. She went over and sat down on the edge of the mattress that Marshall was laying on. She pressed a finger to her son's forehead and made quiet sounds like she was crying, but there were no tears in her eyes, or down her cheeks.

Something smelled eerie to Marshall. It was metallic. Wait, he remembered that scent . . .

"What's that smell?" he asked, pushing her away gently. A glint entered her eyes.

"Probably the blood," commented the doctor.

"Blood?" Marshall's eyes widened and his mouth started to water. Wait, water? That confused him. He'd always reeled away at the sight of blood. Even the mention of it. He'd usually lose his appetite immediately. "Where is it?"

"Well, we kept some of the blood that kept draining out of your neck wound there." The doctor pointed at the two holes on his throat. "It really was a miracle that you survived at all." He stole a glance at Marshall's mother before looking back at the boy. "It's by your bedside."

The teen felt his eye twitch. "C-Can you l-leave me alone . . . For a bit?" he struggled to say. What was this feeling going through his body?

His mother smiled. "I'll be back soon." She stood and left without offering her son even a word of comfort about everything that had happened.

Just as she exited the room, Marshall's neck snapped to the right and found that the crimson liquid was stored in plastic bags. The bags were hanging on a rack on the wall. Before he could stop himself, he jumped out of bed and ripped one of the packets from the hooks. He sank his teeth into the package, allowing little muscles in his mouth the slurp up the drink. His eyes widened when he realized what he was doing and he dropped the packet, red splattering onto the tile floor.

"What the—!" the boy choked out, coughing. What did he just do?

"Interesting. I guess you are."

He looked up, eyes wide. "Wait, what?"

"You passed our test." The doctor grinned.

"What are you . . . What are you, a heartless monster, or something?!"

"Just about." The doctor removed his elastic gloves and threw them onto the counter. His skin was practically white, like an albino, even though his face was tan. "Marshal, do you realize what happened at Mr. Proust's house?"

"I was bit by a bat."

"No. Well, yes, I suppose you have that right. But more specifically, you were bit by Mr. Proust himself."

"What?" He stood up straighter, inches from the doctor. "Are you insane?"

"Anything but. Look, Mr. Proust wasn't a regular old man. He was a vampire."

"You are out of your mind!"

"Marshall. You just drank _blood!_"

Marshall gazed back down to the packet, blood still leaking onto the floor. "I did," he looked back up to the doctor, eyes locking, "didn't I?"

It took some more explaining, but Marshall finally got his head wrapped around the fact that he really, truly was a vampire. That they weren't folklore. They were real.

"Where are you going to take me, then? I can't be hurting anyone here," Marshall stated, starting to feel a little scared. He was a monster. A real monster.

"You're going to a remote location. We can't tell you where, though. If you knew where you were, your hunger for blood might drive you to come back here. We're going to have to put you under an anesthesia for the time being." The doctor pulled out a small syringe from a drawer and started coming closer to Marshall.

The new vampire groaned and stepped back. He hated needles. The pain always felt worse than it actually was to him. The doctor grabbed his arm and stuck the needle in and pressed down the plunger before Marshall could react. Everything started going criss-crossed and lopsided.

"What's your name?" Marshall slurred as he fell the ground, his sight fading from blurry to in focus to fuzzy. It didn't even register that he was lying in his blood again.

"My name?" the doctor laughed. "You'll be sure to learn it soon enough, Marshall Lee. Soon enough."


	3. Chapter 3

Marshall blinked and slowly sat up. His head ached and he could barely see. His vision was fuzzy. Dark.

Wait, no, it wasn't his vision. It was simply night time.

"Hello-o Marshall," a voice hissed pleasantly. The new vampire looked around to see a dark silhouette standing in the shadows by some trees. So he was in a forest. Good? Maybe. But who was this person?

"Who . . .?" She seemed so familiar to him. The voice. The voice was pleasant, in a way, yet it had an annoyed and demanding tone that made people understand that they had better listen of get punished. Kind, yet sharp . . . Marshall gasped. "Mother?"

The figure stepped out from the dark shadows and into the pale moonlight. As Marshall expected, it was his mother. "Hello, Marshall," she said again. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun as usual, but her ears were pointed. What?

"What the hell?" he muttered.

"You'd better get used to the new language here. It's 'What the grob?' All right?"

"Grob?"

"Yes. Grob is the same as hell or Devil. Glob is the same as God or heaven."

"Mother . . . How do you know this? What's with your ears?"

His mother laughed and cackled. "You sound like the girl from _Red Riding Hood_."

"Mother!"

The woman grinned, showing her teeth. Her son gasped. She never smiled, but that's not why he was gasping. In her mouth, her two front teeth were . . . fangs.

"Y-You're a . . .You're a . . . a . . ."

"If you're going to say 'vampire' you're mistaken."

"Then . . . What are you?"

"A demon. Well, the Demon Queen, technically. Ruler of the Nightosphere." She winked like it was impressive.

"How . . .?"

"I always was. Unfortunately, I didn't fall in love with another demon. I was supposed to, so then I'd have a full-demon son, to be the heir, but I fell in love with a half-vampire instead. What an imbecile I was."

Marshall tried to ignore the fact that she basically called him a failure as a son and asked, "What's a half-vampire?"

"Someone who is half vampire and half human. Unfortunately vampire genes are more powerful than demon genes. But since you were also a quarter human, you weren't a complete vampire either. You wouldn't have any vampire traits besides the hair and pale skin until you were—"

"Bitten by a bat?" Marshall was completely guessing, but if he was bitten by another vampire, in their bat form, then he became a vampire . . . Maybe?

"No. Well, yes, but the simpler way is to be bitten by a regular vampire. They're constantly looking for fresh meat. Though there are far less vampires in this region than in our world. Astonishing, really."

"But what about what the doctor said? About Mr. Proust?"

"Oh, Gerome is a friend of mind. He's not actually a doctor. He knew that you'd become a vampire, but he was just playing the part. I just met him here, in the land of Aaa."

"Land of Aaa?"

"Yes, that is what this place is. You're in one of the forests, right now."

"Obviously. How do I get out of this 'Land'?"

She glared at him, her eyes glinting like he disappointed her. "You can't."

"What?"

"Honey, you've caused a lot of mischief. You broke into Mr. Proust's house, caused a big scene at home, and you left the dead remains of your friend there. Ray, was it?"

"_I _left his remains?"

"You may not remember well, Marshall, but when you become a vampire, you get an immediate taste for blood. And when that happens, you try to get the closest source. That was Ray."

"I killed Ray?"

"Yes. I soon found you passed out in Mr. Proust's house. He was there the whole time. He bit you, after all. We got into an argument. He argued how he helped you by turning you into a vampire, how he could feel it in your blood that you were meant to be something great in this form, but I couldn't believe him. So I killed him on the spot."

"You what?!"

"So the police will probably just think it was some murderer who did that to them. They won't suspect me, no worries." She sighed. "So of course I can't let you back! Especially not that you're a vampire and everything happened! Glob, you make too much work for me."

"I can't just stay here!"

"But, Marshall," she smiled viciously, "you must." She backed away into the shadows, slowly disappearing into the shadows and away from his vision. "I'll check up on you eventually. Just find someone to help you, okay? But stay away from humans; they'll kill you simply for what you are. Don't let people know your age. Just lie. If someone found out about your past, who knows what would happen?"

"But wait! What if I get the urge to drink blood? I don't want to hurt anyone!"

A strawberry was thrown at his feet. "Drink the color."

Then she was gone, and he was left along in the dark forest.

Still shocked by his strange conversation, he lifted his head up toward the sky and was startled to see the bristled, jagged leaves of pines. He narrowed his eyes and looked closer. They weren't pine needles. They were . . . candy? He stood and felt a little dizzy, but he still reached up and snagged one of the leaves from the branch. It felt gooey and a little squishy. The vampire popped it into his mouth and chewed. The taste of fresh spearmint filled his mouth and he giggled. A tickling sensation ran through his tongue and soon he was rolling on the dirt and leave covered ground laughing harder and harder. He finally spit the leaves out and the tickle gradually disappeared from his mouth and he regained enough control to sit up and sift the dirt out of his hair.

"What was that?" he whispered, slowly stepping up from the ground. His knees shook from all the laughing. "I gotta get out of here—wherever this place is." He started down a rough path that hasn't seemed to be taken in ages. The undead teen had no idea whether he was going out of the woods or deeper into them. He puckered his lips and started to whistle. The shrill tune rang out in a series of notes that created a melody in a quick, upbeat way. He strolled down the path, trying his best to suppress a smile so he could still whistle. The happy feeling that came from the gummy leaves subsided and his whistle dropped and he stopped. His tongue poked his teeth. His two teeth. His fangs.

"I'm a vampire," he said, realization striking. His knees shook again and he fell to the ground, suddenly very cold. He shivered and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't know where he was. He obviously wasn't in his old neighborhood or anywhere near it. The tree leaves were candy that made you laugh. That wasn't normal.

He forced himself to stand up, but he still clutched himself in a self-hug. Staggering down the road, he shakily took in a breath and tried to calm himself. But he knew he wouldn't be able to. His mother knew nothing of him and he wouldn't be able to return home. He didn't even know where he was. No friends to help either. He had to find somewhere to stay. Preferably before the sun rose. He groaned and kept walking. His stomach wriggled and churned and he felt sick, but he kept walking.

The vampire ventured on, clutching his sides and stomach to keep from vomiting. Unfortunately, he lost energy quicker than his dinner. With a deep groan, he fell to the ground and landed on his face. In seconds he blacked out.

"Hello? Hey, are you okay?" Marshall woke up for the second time and found a grey face looming over him.

"What the?" He slowly sat up and focused more on the person next to him. She had grayish skin and white hair that fell in three bunches, one in the middle of her face, and the others on each of her shoulders. She had pointed ears and wore a black suit with a small burlap sack attached with a rope belt. "Who are you?"

"My name's Ashley. I'm a powerful wizard! Well, not _that _powerful . . ." She eyed him. "You're a mighty cute wizard." She giggled.

Marshall blushed. "Uh . . . I'm not a wizard. I'm a . . . vampire."

"Vampire, wizard, they're pretty similar. Very little difference besides, you know, the magic." She thought for a moment. "Hey, why were you all blacked out, anyway?"

"I don't know. My stomach felt bad. I lost energy." She looked back the way he came.

"Did you eat any weird food?"

"I chewed some gummy leaves . . . spearmint?"

She laughed. "You ate Spearmint Stomach Buggers, stupid!" She reached into her pouch and pulled out a small powder. "Do you have water?"

"No."

"Oh. Then you'll have to eat this dry, sorry." She gestured to him to open his mouth. He did so and she dropped some powder onto his tongue and he writhed in disgust at the bitter taste. "Oops, I should've warned you about the taste. Just swallow it, don't worry." Marshall forced it down and 'bleched' afterward.

"Who are you?" Ashley asked.

"Marshall Lee."

"Where are you from? I don't think I've seen you anywhere before. I would've heard of some vampire by a name like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's just, well; it's not a very, well . . ." She paused and pursed her lips. "How should I put it?"

"Common?"

"No, it's sort of a common name, I suppose. Vampires usually have weird names."

"What do you mean?"

"Something like . . . Bartholomew." Marshall gave her an astonished look.

"You can't be serious." She snickered.

"No, I'm not. Just wanted to see your face."

"Is Ashley more normal for a wizard?"

"Yeah. There's no real 'normal' for wizards, though. I once met a wizard named Alfonzolatino."

"Alfonzolatino?"

"Yep. He was a pretty smart wizard, though, for his age."

"What was his age?"

"Only ninety-three."

"_Only?_"

"What? Typical life spans for wizards span for hundreds of years. He wasn't even a century old! How could he be so good? I had no idea."

"How old are you?"

"Almost two hundred."

"_What?_"

"Okay, so maybe I might be too young for you . . ."

"Too _young?_"

"Yeah. By the looks of you, I'd say you're nearly three hundred."

"What, are you crazy?!"

"Oh, sorry, nearly four hundred?"

"No! No, no, no!"

"Then how old _are _you?"

He opened his eyes but stopped. He remembered his mother explaining to him to not reveal his age. "Err . . . I'm only two-hundred and eighty years old."

"Oh, that's all? I like young men." She grinned. "You need a place to stay?" He nodded. "Then come on—I'll show you a place we can stay."

"We?"

"Yep." She smiled sweetly. "We."

* * *

**Author's Note: So that's the end of that! The beginning of Marshall's adventure in the Land of Aaa. Please review, I want to know if I wrote this to your liking! And also, if you have an idea for an Adventure Time fan fiction (I like doing the gender-benders more, but I could write the regular genders if you would like) then just give me a PM or comment. Thank you!**


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